Monsieur de Brévanne stopped in front of the flower girl, and gazed at her with an interest which became deeper with every moment; as he scrutinized her features, he was conscious of an emotion which he could not comprehend at first; the girl reminded him of someone; he searched his memory for a moment, but it did not take long to decide whose portrait he saw in the girl.
"What an extraordinary resemblance!" said the count to himself, his eyes still fastened upon Violette's face, for it was her booth at which he had stopped. "This girl has all Lucienne's features, but Lucienne's features when I was paying court to her, when she was not my wife; only, Lucienne had a merry expression, a smile always on her lips, and this girl has a melancholy look, her brow is careworn; but probably she is not always thus. Is it a delusion of my senses? No, that profile, that nose, the outlines of the face—it is impossible for two persons to resemble each other more closely. And is this the Violette with whom Georget is in love? It must be she; but no matter, I must make certain."
The count walked to the flower girl's booth, picked up a bunch of roses and asked the price. Violette replied, and her voice made a profound impression upon the count, for that too was his wife's. He bent so piercing a glance upon the girl that she was confused and lowered her lovely eyes.
"I beg pardon, mademoiselle," said the count, as he paid for his roses; "but perhaps you can assist me in finding the person for whom I am looking; it is a young flower girl named Violette."
"Violette—why, I am Violette, monsieur."
"Ah! are you she?"
"There is nobody else of that name in this market."
"Oh! I believe you; indeed, I suspected that you must be the one."
"What do you wish of me, monsieur?"
"It will seem strange to you, mademoiselle, but I was looking for you in order to find another person."